


Aladdin and the Two Bakers

by CrystalHopeDragon



Series: Happy Childhoods [1]
Category: Aladdin - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 15:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15998090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalHopeDragon/pseuds/CrystalHopeDragon
Summary: Have you noticed that a lot of fairy tales wouldn’t have happened, or at least would have had less sad children, if a responsible adult had existed anywhere near them? This is my anthology to correct that, because I’m a sap who doesn’t like to see so many depressing childhoods. We’re starting with Aladdin! Meet the traveling bakers, Lynn and Chivindi, as they travel through Riyal (my Agrabah replacement for this public domain story) to sell their wares. They run into a thieving little street rat who barely looks ten and decide to teach him how to survive.





	Aladdin and the Two Bakers

“The blistering heat lay thick in the air, sun scorching down strong upon the aggravated shoulders of a not-so-fair maiden. The land from which she hailed had hot summers of course, humid and strangling as any summer in a river valley is want to be. However, they did nothing to prepare her for this dry, endless expanse of scorching sand. No clouds or trees for cover, no water for miles. She had always wondered why the travelers from these distant lands wore such covering garb in the heat, but after hours under the burn of their sun she could finally understand. She regretted not taking heed, as dark skin or not, she was sure to burn. Though no outward sign showed on her onyx skin yet, the dry stretch and bubble of blisters she could already feel. Soon it would show, as the agony increased. The weight of the supplies bore down upon her back, sixty pounds in her giant sack yet it still supplies little shade for relief. The only bright spot in the agony being the well stocked water supply, which was 2/3rds of the weight. At least something was planned right.”

“Lynn, I can already feel all that, thanks. The narration of my suffering really isn’t needed.” I interrupt, exasperated.

“Your suffering? I’m describing MY agony! Why o why didn’t I heed the warnings? The sunburn will last for days! Weeks!”She wails, aborting a motion to do her traditional dramatic fall. Expressive and energetic as she may be, even she knows better then to drop down in this desert. There was a risk of not standing again.

“Uh-huh. And since when has your skin even been described as onyx?” I retort skeptically, one eyebrow raised, readjusting my grip on my pack for the hundredth time. 

“Right now! The sheer heat of the beating sun is turning me darker by the minute! Soon I shall be as dark as you!” She responds with feeling, a hand to her forehead, as we continue to trudge along. 

“Don’t worry honey, I don’t think you’ll ever have that issue.” I grin, looking towards the distant horizon. “Besides, if you’d slow the dramatics, you’d notice we’re almost there.”

She turns in surprise, squinting at the distant view. Her eyes widen in glee at the faint but visible outline of our destination, though only a small shadow at this point. “O sweet Akmet, civilization! What a joyous occasion! We shall finally rest our weary heads.” She sighs in joy while I snicker. At this point she’s just playing it up for kicks. 

 

I grin at her and readjust my grip again. “See, it wasn’t that bad, now was it? Only two quick days of travel.” The glare I received for that comment was brutal. 

“Next time, we go to the tundra.” Was her only response, dramatics forgotten. Well shit, touché. She may not be fond of heat, but I can’t say I’m much better when it comes to cold.

“How about the marshlands between here and there?” I ask nervously. “I hear the climate reminds most of our home.” 

She hums thoughtfully. “We’ll see.” She says, leaving the discussion unfinished. I guess I’m fixing her favorite tonight, as I wouldn’t want any...unpleasant travel destinations in my future. At least not faster then we have to. 

A calm silence fills the air between us as we finish our trek, finally reaching the edge of the city. Riyal was a large, rich city-state, known for its fineries of cloth and gold, as well as its beautiful architecture. Tourists and caravans came through commonly, leaving the city prosperous and happy. Many people came here hoping to do business, and we were no exception. The charge to get in was a bit much, but for any experienced businesswoman 5 silver was worth it. 

Once inside she grinned, bowed my way, and wondered towards the commerce building to check us in. I giggled softly before going on my way, looking for an empty stall area. Wanting to avoid conflict, I went further out of the main business district then most, setting up at the end of a side road. As a newcomer to this town, trying to fight for the good spots with local salesmen was a bad idea. Even worse so since it’s always pretty obvious who the law enforcement would side with in a dispute, us being quite foreign and all. Besides, our product is a standard of living, a necessity. I haven’t been anywhere yet I couldn’t make a sale, I doubt the trend would start now.

After finding a good spot I drop my heavy burden, popping my back with a content sign. No time to rest though, the real work has just started. I pull out the tent poles first, setting up the booth; It’s just some wooden poles with a cloth tarp over it, but it provides shade from the boiling sun and a defining line for our newly established territory. I next pull out the coals we packed, knowing it would be expensive around here. Just a few to get us started, I doubt it will need much help to burn around these parts. I wrap my hand in a cloth before pulling out my black iron pot. It’s already warm from the sun beating on my pack, it’d be scorching once I start baking. I set it to the side of the firewood for now, pulling out the mixing bowl and ingredients, getting started on the first batch. 

Around this point Lynn returns with the permission sign from the commerce board, tacking it to the front of one of our poles. Without it, we would get arrested for doing business in these parts. Riyal is the capital after all, security is high for the protection of the royals. I’ve always scoffed at the thought. A man strong enough to lead should be strong enough to defend himself, but hey, I’m no royal, so what do I know? 

“You won’t believe what I saw on my way back through the market!” Lynn giggles in excitement as she sets up the display we stored in her pack. It isn’t much, four small pieces of wood and two medium sized ones, but tacked together they do the job. Over the years she’s decorated them with elaborate engravings and swirls. The tarp actually has old fables from our people painted onto it, while the table -which sees far more physical abuse- gets more abstract patterns then stories. They tend to draw a crowd for the decor; they stay for the bread.

Speaking of which, it’s about time to start on it. Now that the table is near, I go over to the floured cutting board Lynn set out and start kneading the well mixed dough. I hum in response to her excitement, listening silently as I work. 

“There was a man who was swallowing a sword! Can you imagine? And they say the girls back home have deep throats.” She giggles at her own joke, as I snicker along. I set the bread out to rise and head to mix another batch. “That won’t take long to rise here, will it? The weathers downright scorching.” She comments.

“Maybe a bit too much. I was worried at first that the water would be too hot and kill the yeast; I let it set in the shade while setting up the tent just to be safe.” I respond as I mix, shaking my head in frustration. A wasted batch would be a mess, our ingredients aren’t cheap around here.

“Don’t worry love, I’m sure it will be fine. Just like you, your bread tends to thrive in any warm environment.” She giggles at her own joke again. I grumble at the comment but don’t deny it. “But the sword guy wasn’t the only cool thing around here, this one guy was walking on coals! And another was playing a flute to make a snake dance for him! We have to learn how to do some of this! It might come in handy on our next trip to be able to charm snakes!” 

“I don’t think they’ll hand over the tricks to their trade that easily dear.” I respond as I go to lay out the next batch, kneading it properly. Then I flatten and shape the first batch into loaves, sticking one into the pot Lynn had oiled while she talked. She’d also started the fire, so I set it on the coals, put the lid on, and grabbed some tongs to put a few coals on top. There, that should be done by the time I finish mixing the next batch.

“A girl can dream, Chivindi, a girl can dream.” She responds with a whistful sigh. I shake my head fondly as I mix. 

“Still, you aren’t wrong. Those trades do sound useful. They’re performers, right? Maybe if we visit the booths enough, pay and watch, we can figure some of it out. Maybe even cajole them into giving a hint or two away. After all, walking on fire can intimidate an enemy quite quickly.” I respond calmly, hiding the budding malicious grin behind my hair braid at the final thought.

“O to dream!” She shouts proudly with a twirl, grabbing some curious glances from the main street. While my attire is very utilitarian -loose, sturdy brown cotton trousers and a simple white cotton long sleeved shirt with a leather belt- my darling Lynn has always had a flair for the dramatic. Bright blue three layered skirt that flows while she walks, a white blouse with ruffles to spare, all embroidered heavily by her in rich greens, pinks, and browns to add the imagery of the animals and scenery of our homeland to her. The river and windmill present on her skirt always fills me with longing, and fills passerby’s with curiosity. No doubt if I had any product out yet they’d be filing over to ask questions. She’s always managed to draw a crowd. I couldn’t love her more for it if I tried. The joy is infectious, especially to me, and she manages to help us bring in a living with it. 

Between our chatter and my internal monologuing time always seems to fly by. Before I knew it we had six finished loafs, enough for a good start. We cut them into four pieces each then added our secret ingredient. The forests and lakes back home were plentiful, resulting in plenty of berries for jam. Such things are rare in the lands we travel, in the desserts and swamps and tundras, so the slices we fill with it are always our best and highest sellers. We only fill a fourth of our stock in them, but it’s enough. We can always add it to more if the sales increase.

“So what was the average price for a loaf of bread around here?” I asked curiously, having forgotten to earlier. 

“Six copper at the best barter, there’s been a grain shortage nearby so it’s a rare commodity. It’s a good thing we always pack our own.”

I whistle. “I’ll say, ouch. So how about we go four for the regular loaves, one up the competition, but charge three for each quarter loaf we added jam to? Quarter loaves without it can be one.” 

She nods, grinning. “Sounds good. I’ll go rustle us up some customers.”

She grabs her tambourine and saunters into the market place, hips swaying sensually to match her seductive grin. I grin too, sit back and watch. She always does a fun show. The music starts quite suddenly, with a few quick shakes and a couple thunks on her hip. Then she starts to dance and sway like the gypsies taught her, while pitching the usual sale. “Come one, come all, for a foreign taste! Grain from far off, jam to entrance! All quite affordable I promise thee, follow me and thou shall see!” She used the common language of course, making a rhyme all could understand. Our personal language is quite foreign, and we only know the basics of the local, but all educated people have learned the common language; and in this rich capital most are decently educated. Makes life easier for travelers like us. And like always, the customers roll in. It goes smoothly for a bit, most accepting our style of sale. Every once in a while we get a sour one though. 

“This is too much!” One man cries, his accent showing through in the common tongue. “Three copper for a quarter slice is too much, jam or no!” 

“Then go with no and get it for one.” I respond from behind my mixing bowl, seeing Lynn’s frustration. “Sorry sir, but the Ceiniog don’t barter. We know the value of our product, and we compare it fairly to local prices when bartered to the lowest. If you want jam, you pay three. You want cheap you pay one and get no jam.” He storms off in a huff. I pay him no mind as three take his place and do pay. Lynn smiles gratefully at me and returns to the more open-minded customers. When at their booths we play by their customs, when at ours we play by ours. We know what we’re worth and we stick to it. Besides, plenty do play by ours rules, so we obviously aren’t messing with their traditions that badly. 

Near the end of the day, right as everything’s winding down and the deserts about to go from extremely hot to extremely cold (as we found out the hard way the first night), I see movement out of the corner of my eye. If it had been from the front I’d have payed it no mind, but I’m the daughter of a hunter, and the movement came from behind. There are very few birds in this area, and the only thing behind me is a roof. The next thing I know instincts have kicked in and the bowls in the notch of one arm, my hand grasping a much smaller arm. The kid tries to struggle away but my grip holds steady, as does his on the quarter loaf of bread he’d grabbed. 

I look him over. Small, grubby. Clothes old and torn, too light to handle the nights and I doubt he had spares at home. Most likely an orphan then, or from a pretty rough family. Too thin, he’s wearing a vest, no shirt, and I can see decently defined ribs. I put the bowl on the counter and yank him forwards. I look him square in he eye, and use my other hand to press the bread to his mouth. It was one of the jam ones, I could see the slit in it, but I doubt he knew that. 

“Eat up. Finish quick, you’re helping me make this last batch then with cleanup. This batch is our dinner, since we’ve sold most of our stock today. One leftover loaf and a half ain’t enough for two or three people.” I finish as I go to grab the ingredients. I’m glad I hadn’t started the mixing yet, I could have spilled it with the encounter. 

I get an intelligent “Wha-“ in near unintelligible common language. 

“Kid, you speak common language?” I ask in the little bit of his speech I know.

He straightens up a bit. “Yeah, I do!” He responds defensively, if still a bit slurred, in common. “Just never had no one offer to feed me when I tried to steal from ‘em i’ all.” 

Lynn’s been standing to the side watching it all, and at this her face turns to a dopey warm smile. “Her family has always had a big heart, she earned it honest. Also, it’s ‘anyone’ dear, not ‘no one’. We’ll cover some grammar lessons while we teach you to bake.”

“Teach me to bake?” He asks, still slightly stupefied.

“Give a kid some bread, you feed him for a day. Teach him to make it, he can feed himself for a lifetime. It’s a trade skill, kid, and not that hard of one to learn. We can’t afford to take in every orphan we pass on our travels, we pass more then I can count. If we can teach you something useful though, we can at least increase your chance of survival. We’ll pawn you off on a local baker when we leave, tell him we taught you our tricks, convince him to apprentice you. Eases my conscious when I head out. Ain’t your fault you’re hungry and alone, after all.” I say with a shrug. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t seem to know how to, just hungrily gobbles the bread. You can see when he hits the center, his eyes lighting up at what is probably his first taste of jam. “You can get the jam pretty affordably down past the Sterling Forests, in the land of Ceiniog; it’s our home country. It’s a two day hike through the desert southwest though, and with the creatures out there it’s a hard fought journey. You’re a survivor though, learn what you can from us and survive. That trip will be worth it if you do.” He just hums in response, engrossed in the last morsels of his meal. As soon as he finishes I pass him the bowl. “Now watch what I do closely, measurements and all. You’ll be doing it with me tomorrow so you need to learn.” 

It takes longer then usual to mix the bread, as I made the kid try. We spread it, knead it, let it set, knead it into the loaf and set it to bake. The entire time there seems to be awe in his eyes, like he’s watching something magical unfold. When it finishes and we set it out to cool I realize something.

“Hey kid, what’s your name?” 

“Aladdin.” He responds, looking up at me with wide eyes.

“Well it is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lynn, she’s Chivindi.” Lynn says as she saddles up close to him picking him up onto her shoulders like he weighs nothing. Compared to our sacks, he basically does. “Now come with me. We need to put a shirt on you before we clean up, I saw a vendor down the street that I think I can talk down to a couple silver.” I just shake my head as she walks away with him and start the cleanup. We’d take him if we could, really, but we need to head north next. We’ve already gone as far south as we can without boarding a boat, spreading our secrets to the kids down there. In order to find new territory we have to head north, as our recipes really aren’t that uncommon to the direct east or west of our lands. We know, we’ve been there too. But north is swamps and tundras. Danger and cold. No place to drag a kid used to the desert climates. He’s probably never even seen snow. No place to drag me either, but we’re running short on options. 

We’re from the center of the Ceiniog territories. It’s got all four seasons in our area. But if you go south you go from forests to rain forests, where no snow touches, then to beaches and ocean. The central territory we’re from is nice, but too nice. The monsters there are big and would eat a lone kid alive if we don’t teach him to survive out there quick. So we will. Someone needs to, after all. 

They return right as I finish packing the tent, and the chill of night has settled in. He looks far warmer in that white long sleeved shirt under his vest, even if he’s still awkwardly perched on her shoulders. We each grab our packs as he jumps down and head to the nearest inn. I leave the bartering to Lynn, it’s always been more of her thing. I’ve never been much in the way of conniving or crafty. Papa was straight forward, so so am I. I notice the kid watching it all closely though, smart kid. She manages to get the room for two silver for the week, on the promise of supplying the manager a free loaf a day, with jam. It’s a good deal for us, being a nice little inn in the center of town near the shopping district. 

When we get to the room though the kid looks at her curiously. “Why give him such a good deal? Isn’t the jam bread expensive? The room wouldn’t have cost you over 10 silver for a week.” He asks as we split the leftovers up, eating our shares. 

She grins at him secretly, and leans down to talk quietly. “It isn’t expensive for us. We can buy a gallon of it back home for 5 silver. We pack 2 at any given time. We don’t need to use much per loaf of bread to add flavor, so those two gallons can last us a month of business. True, we can get more silver by selling them and paying him full price for the room, but there’s no guarantee we’ll sell enough of it here for that much silver. The only thing we will need to restock on after this is grain, and it should grow well enough in the swamplands for us to get more. So it’s better to use our resources then our cash on this one.”

He takes a minute to process this before nodding firmly. “Makes sense.” He says as he finishes his last bites.

“You know what else makes sense?” I ask, long done with my meal. They look up. “Bed. I’m beat. If we want to make the breakfast rush we should get to it now.” They both pout, wanting to stay up longer and talk, but agree. We’ll have time for it tomorrow.

We got a double bed room, it’s the most affordable we could bargain. The kids male though, and we don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. So he got one big fluffy bed to himself, something that from his expression as he sunk in I don’t think he’s ever had, while Lynn and I share. We strip to our undershirts and shorts to sleep though, which did lead to the boy blushing a bit. Huh, he’s a shy one. We all say our luck phrases to the gods before tucking in, Lynn and I pressed nose to nose, hands held in the middle. We’ve cuddled for warmth so often in the past (especially in the awful desert night) that boundaries are long gone. Sleep comes quickly for all.

-O-

Morning does too, unfortunately. Lynn is a deep sleeper, and has to be physically dragged out of bed, as Aladdin got to learn. He watched the whole thing from a safe distance (on his bed) snickering in amusement as she fought to stay in. 

Once the whining is done and clothes are re-donned though it’s back to business. We grab our packs and head out, travel being easy today from our early arrival. We still avoid the main buisness district, not wanting to deal with angry locals, setting back up where we were the prior day. “Talk helps,” Lynn tells Aladdin. “and staying put gets us repeat customers and any new ones they told. We’ve got cheap prices and rare product, we rarely have sales issues.” And like she said, the business starts early. We sell a lot of quarter loafs, plain and jammed, to blurry eyes businessmen heading out to set up shop. Lynn even greats one by name, telling me he was the clothing salesmen from yesterday. He happily bought a jam covered full loaf, mentioning his mother used to store jam when he was younger, and he missed it. Aladdin was a great help. Once he got the recipe down, mixing time was cut in half. I got to pull out the second bowl for once. Lynn never had time to, she was always caught up in sales and keeping the fire stoked, making me wonder sometimes why we bothered keeping the second bowl. I always remember when we find a kid. The day went smooth, he learned fast, and before we knew it it was evening. Shops started closing up, the dinner rush came and went, and we made the extra loaves for us and the inn owner and packed up. They talked the whole evening until I managed to force them to bed, just to repeat the next morning.

The week went fast. Too fast. Before we knew it our grain stores were low the prices in the area didn’t make it worth it to restock here. We’d made a total of 42 silver from the trip, more then making up for the amount we spent. It was the perfect time to move on, and that’s part of what made it so hard. We knew we had to go; we had to leave him. 

He’d told us about himself over the week. His mom died a couple years ago of illness, leaving him alone. He’d never known his dad, didn’t have any distant relatives. He’d been sneaking food and sleeping in an abandoned building to survive until now. We wanted to keep him, keep him safe, but we knew we couldn’t. So it was time I did the next best thing.

The morning we were supposed to leave I got up early, leaving them both to sleep in. I grabbed a small jar from a snack we’d got in the market and filled it with jam. Heading down the main shopping district, I looked for our competition. He spotted me first. “Ooo, one of the lovely jam ladies, come to steal my competition so close to home have you?” He spat out grumpily. He didn’t seem violent though, just a bit sullen about being undermined. 

“Actually, I’ve come to give you the competition.” I said, setting the jar on the table. He looked at me suspiciously, for good reason.

“For what purpose?” 

“A trade, of sorts. You see, we picked up an apprentice while in the area. He’s turned into quite an excellent little baker, and knows our secret recipe by heart. We also taught him the secrets to getting through the desert safe, so he knows where and how to get more jam. Problem is, we’re heading north. Swamps and tundras aren’t safe for a small desert child. So we were wondering if you’d take him under your wing? Pay him for his work and getting you more of this great selling jam? Sound fair, I think.” I say with a shrug, acting casual about the whole thing. He has to think he’s gaining something. I’m not the crafty one, but even I know not to let the opponent know when you’re desperate.

“It does sound quite good. Too good. I won’t house him, you hear? This is a job, nothing more.” He says sternly, reaching towards the jar.

“I never asked you too. He can house himself, he just needs funds, and he’s now got good skills to earn it. Pay him well though, you hear? He’ll help you beat out the competition. We will check in on our way back from the tundra.” I grimace at the mention of the place, but try not to make it too unnatural. 

“You’ve got a deal.” He says, tucking the jar away. “Bring him by on your way out, he can start work right away.”

“Deal.” I say as I turn away, heart racing. It never gets easier, doing that. 

I get back to them both being awake, miraculously. He’s tucked into her side hugging her tight, obviously not wanting to let go. I feel a lump rising in my throat and go to join the hug.

“Hey, it’s okay.” I tell him. “I got you a job with one of the main bakers. You’ll do great! And here.” I say, reaching into my purse. “Seven silver. A bit of the days earnings for each day our little apprentice helped. It’ll be a good starting for you. You know the way to Ceiniog, we told you all the landmarks. You’ll do great. So don’t cry, okay?” I say, trying to hold back my own tears. Lynn silently wipes his, not even bothering with her own. 

“You’re going to be amazing.” She whispers to him, kissing his forehead. 

He just sobs and tucks closer to us. After a bit though we do have to leave. If we don’t set out early we’ll still be pretty early into the trek when the sun sets, and if the blistering sun is bad the chilling cold of night is worse. Even Lynn agrees, and she’s still healing from the last blisters! We bought some of those white veils they wear for the trip this time though, and it only cost us a couple more silver. So we have to leave.

We drop him off with the baker, waving sadly as we head north. He’ll be okay. The strong, stubborn ones like him usually are.


End file.
